


Gan

by emungere



Category: Mugen no Juunin | Blade of the Immortal
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lightning lit up the sky behind the man standing on his porch. It was Anotsu, looking wet, cross, dirty, and oblivious to the drama of the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gan

**Author's Note:**

> justblue0162 wanted: maganotsu, magatsu's birthday
> 
> As far as I can tell, birthdays weren't celebrated during the Edo period the way they are now in modern Japan and possibly not at all. There is this, however:
> 
> From [here](http://www.jcch.com/jt.htm): _Bad luck ages are referred to as yakudoshi, with yaku meaning “calamity” or “calamitous” and doshi signifying “year(s).” These years are considered critical or dangerous because they are believed to bring bad luck or disaster. For men, the ages 24 and 41 (or 25 and 42 in Japan) are deemed critical years, with 41 being especially critical._
> 
> The title is Japanese for wild goose.

Magatsu turned forty-two with falling leaves and wild geese calling overhead for company. He could see the mountains from his window, a haphazard brocade of red and gold. Sometimes, not often, he thought about how much O-ren had wanted a silk kimono, scattered with autumn leaves. 

His own kimono was neither silk nor patterned. It was poorer than what he'd worn when he knew her, but better suited to his life now. There was no point in flashy designs when he'd get mud all over them bringing in the harvest. Though there had been as little point when he was likely to get covered in blood, which was even harder to wash out.

His garden was small, but enough for him. He planted it each spring the way his father had shown him when he was a child. Now it was almost time for his last real harvest of the year. Some of the root vegetables would keep underground, but everything else had to come in before the frost.

It was raining, of course. He could wait another day, but he didn't like to let the weather think it was getting the best of him. He came back inside drenched and aching in every joint and so cold he thought he'd shiver his teeth out of his head. He sat by the fire, wearing nothing but a blanket and his slowly drying skin.

Someone knocked on his door.

His sword leaned in a corner near the hearth. He hadn't touched it for nearly a year, but it felt as familiar in his hand as always. He wrapped the blanket around his waist and tucked it in place as he slid the door open.

Lightning lit up the sky behind the man standing on his porch. It was Anotsu, looking wet, cross, dirty, and oblivious to the drama of the moment.

"Well," Magatsu said. He stopped, surprised by the rust in his voice. It had seen as little use as his sword recently. He waved Anotsu inside and got him a blanket.

They sat by the fire, Anotsu's axe propped in the corner next to Magatsu's sword.

"You always come in autumn," Magatsu said, finally. "Like the geese."

"If I came in spring, you'd make me help you plant things."

Magastsu laughed. "Anotsu Kagehisa, farmer. No, I don't think so."

"Don't blood and bone make good fertilizers? I could provide you with both as my contribution."

Magatsu glanced at him and didn't ask whether he meant his own or other people's. "You're in a mood," he said.

Anotsu shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. "It's your yakudoshi this year. Are you going to pray at the shrine?"

"Ha. What do you think?"

"I think," Anotsu said, after a long pause, "that you would've been better off if I'd turned you away from the Itto-ryu when you came to me."

Magatsu smacked his arm, just to get that wide-eyed look, like Anotsu couldn't believe he'd really done that. It was funnier the older Anotsu got. He never looked any less surprised.

"Lay off," Magatsu told him. "I couldn't have done anything else back then, any more than you could have."

Anotsu sighed. "Maybe I am in a mood."

"Pour us some sake. I'll get dinner."

Dinner was miso with tofu and greens from his garden. Anotsu drank too much sake and lay down in front of the fire. He gave every appearance of sleep, but his eyes were still open.

Magatsu left him there and sat out on the porch, watching geese fly across the moon. He could only see them when they crossed. Otherwise, they were black specks on a black sky.

He smiled to himself and downed the last of the sake. Tonight was the first time he'd heard Anotsu talk about the past in nearly twenty years. Anotsu would stay longer this time. Maybe all winter, maybe even longer than that. If this was the beginning of his year of bad luck, he might visit the shrine after all, to give thanks.


End file.
